Poetry, Real Toads


Shay has called in to prompt us at Toads

Today I’m asking you to write a poem involving a crow, or crows. They happen to be my totem animal, and I adore them, but even if you don’t like crows, they make wonderful fodder for writing.

As most of you know, a group of crows is called a “murder” of crows. Crows are often used in literature and films to convey a sense of foreboding or death. But crows are extremely intelligent birds who can figure out complex tasks–like using a stick to help them retrieve a piece of food–and they can distinguish individual human faces so that they know who is a friend and who to avoid. If you feed crows, they will sometimes bring trinkets and shiny objects to leave as gifts for you. 

So, write about crows, or from the point of view of a crow, or use them as metaphors. Just write about crows! New poems only. You can write haiku if you want, but crows will come and peck your eyes out, and I won’t feel one bit sorry for you.



crow hunched his form against the sheeting rain

wrapped black wings in cloaked sweep

and cawed an old call ancient and throaty


a story emerged then that was life’s to tell of itself

arr-owed on the wind from one murder(us) branch

to the next as (indecipherable to us who-mans) chatter


we heard something but knew not what and so

poem-ed our way forward with adjective and verb

our caw more cerebral and less visceral perhaps


epics we writ long and large and penned haiku with no eyes

tales of crow inked page upon page and we believed that we could

watch as crow and that we too cawed a song from the ancestors


meanwhile crow shook the wet coat of rain from his drenched self

and peering through the torrent with shiny obsidian orbs muttered

to no one in particular                                                        ‘fucking poets’




for today’s napowrimo prompt



37 thoughts on “yeah….whatever!”

  1. Oh, I love the juxtaposition of darkness and humor in this, Paul.
    THIS: wrapped black wings in cloaked sweep
    and THIS:
    shook the wet coat of rain from his drenched self

    and that subtle murder(us)


  2. This was nice reading, Paul. It bothered me that the poor crow had no eyes, but many of the wild have escaped some terrible abuse. Must have been a poet that was cause for his final remark here.

  3. epics we writ long and large and penned haiku with no eyes
    tales of crow inked page upon page…

    Crows do seem to be a source of inspiration for many writers. I loved the (who mans).

  4. I may hammer one together later this evening. Crows are my pals at the middle school where I work. They terrify some of the kids. Others have been amazed by having a dean who speaks to crows… and having them speak back. Of course, this doesn’t apply to fish crows (or as I call them, Southern crows) who utter nothing but “Un uh!” Contrary beasts!

      1. Smaller versions (slightly). They don’t caw or call out their names. Sometimes one or two of one species flock with the other. Crows are just lots of fun. …except for farmers and gardeners.

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